Firmament
by Eidolon Tree
Summary: HakkaiSanzo, "Little Prince" references. "Firmament" is a word that describes heaven and earth. In ikebana, the primary elements of each design is seperated into three catagories: heaven, man, earth. This story is fanfiction, ikebana style.


The hotel they were staying at that evening was just a regular old hotel, with creaky floorboards and cheap mattresses that were probably infested with bedbugs. On the plus side, the hotel wasn't completely full up to its shins in boarders, so unlike previous hotels, they were each allotted their own room and privacy.

They all wound up in Sanzo's room, anyways, playing mahjong. Hakkai won. Sanzo threw them all out of the room when he felt he'd reached the end of his patience, and Gojyo accused him of being a sore loser.

He shut the door on their backs, and locked it, vowing to shoot anyone who came through it while he was trying to rest. 

Sanzo removed his robes, set them down at the table so that they wouldn't become overly wrinkled. He wasn't certain if he felt peaceful or listless, and his inability to tell the difference reminded him of exactly how human he was.

Sanzo could sometimes find the bleakest of symbols in the most inane things.

The pack inside his robes was empty, he jerked a new box out of his pack, sat on the bed, and started to smoke. Sanzo sat on the bed of his windowless bedroom. The fact that it was so full of noise earlier, left it feeling excessively, ridiculously empty, now. He enjoyed the silence, and accepted the emptiness. He inhaled and imagined the air filling his lungs. He exhaled through his nose and imagined the air pulling itself through his stomach, completing a full circle. Air along his spine, brushing up against his heart, pulling itself from him as if he were simply a part of the circle of its movement.

The room was still, the room was right angles, the room was broken lines.

This was not a place capable of confining Genjo Sanzo.

This was not a cell.

The peace lasted until he fell asleep.

When he dreamed, he dreamed of rain. It was a sort of tangible loneliness that slid into his bones, left him feeling like an empty container.

Where is god in a world like this?

It was less of a scenic dream, than an emotive one. He could possibly embrace this stillness if it weren't for...

.... ..something lingering.

Sanzo never much cared for false nobility. When the rain falls, it falls on everything.

What is it, about the rain? It falls upon, it strikes, it drenches. It seems, according to the words, to lack subtlety. One would imagine that the rain is nothing less than assault, there was so much confrontation in the words.

This rain, in this dream, was soft.

Mist.

It gathers, covers, engulfs, and drowns.

It makes the world, wet.

It makes the world, cold.

It makes the soul, ache.

It makes Sanzo, remember.

When he awoke, he could hear the assault from above. He sat up off his small cot, reached for his robes hanging off the bed knob, and wandered down the stairs, needing to see the deluge for himself. The inn itself was dark, most of the hallway lights were snuffed out because most of the travelers who were staying the night were in for the evening. The flickering light caught off his hair, reflected off his eyes, made him appear to be yet another ghost wandering its halls. When he reached the little restaurant below, and the little bar, the light was almost overwhelming, but the people there were quiet – drunk, morose, and tired. Most of them, Sanzo figured, were too poor to actually afford a room, so they ate and drank slowly, delaying their eventual departure. When he reached the door, he opened it, stepped out and stood under the awning and looked out across the land

He was greeted by wet, dreary landscape. The clouds overhead had opened up full scale – nothing like the soft wet of his dreams. Sanzo stood for a moment at the door before someone yelled at him to get in or out, and shut it.

He felt heavy all over; he walked to a table near a window, and sat. He couldn't remove his eyes from the landscape, it held him with morbid strength.

When he heard the chair opposite him pull out, and someone sit, he didn't bother to look. He knew what company the rain would draw to him, it was traditional.

They moved as if they were in a ceremony, it was so traditional. Hakkai would order the both of them food and wine. Sanzo would either ignore it or eat it, the presence of the food was the important thing to the ceremony. The food was always Hakkai's gentle reminder that Sanzo wasn't alone, a physical symbol that someone was there and wanted him alive and well. Hakkai would order it even if he himself wasn't hungry, the symbol was worth more than the nutritional properties of the food itself. Once, Hakkai was only able to bring a piece of fruit and some water, but that was all it took. 

Sanzo waited to hear a lecture, or some kind of platitude, but none came. Sanzo didn't pause in his careful contemplation of the landscape, not even when he heard a soft voice order wine and soup.

Hakkai always came to him when it rained.

But the rain made Sanzo feel dangerous, he grit his teeth and said with measured cruelty, "It's a pity Gojyo isn't awake, isn't it?" He wanted to break the ceremony of their meeting.

Hakkai made a soft noise that could possibly mean anything, "He's better asleep in the arms of a woman."

And they resumed their quiet, and waited for their soup.

"And Goku, is better off in bed, hn ?" It sounded polite when Hakkai said it.

"Dreaming of food." Sanzo replied, without thinking.

Hakkai laughed softly. Hakkai was never loud and intrusive, he always slid into Sanzo's little reverie without actually taking it over. With some difficulty, Sanzo moved his eyes away from the outside, and looked at Hakkai. "Beautiful" was a common word to apply to him, mostly because it was always accurate.

Their soup arrived, half sloshed onto the table, along with some cheap wine, which they both drank without complaining. Sanzo lifted his spoon, touched it to the soup, and paused. Typically, this was right around the time Goku would slip in and steal half of his food. Over time, Sanzo had apparently become accustomed to only eating half of his servings. He tasted the soup, and set down the spoon, suddenly wondering what motivated him to eat in the first place.

So the two men sat, and the two men ate. Each would carefully lift the spoon to their lips, and each would carefully blow on the watery stuff, and then each would carefully sip. There is care in ceremony, deliberation, and Sanzo and Hakkai were uniquely aware of this, were familiar with it. Sanzo and Hakkai did not converse, for the most part. They only sat in respectful, quiet silence. It never helped for Hakkai to speak to Sanzo, it always seemed to only drive him away. So he simply sat in quiet, next to him, with the rain nearby, and their two sleeping friends overhead.

Neither of them really knew why their rain-meals felt so traditional, only that they felt drawn – perhaps out of loneliness, perhaps out of friendship… perhaps simply because it seemed the appropriate thing to do. In any case, they would sit with each other, as the rain fell from the sky above, as the clouds covered the heavens, as the earth became mud.

Sanzo wanted to get closer to the rain, so without announcement, he stood from the table, leaving half of the food (food he was unaccustomed to eating), and walked outside, and stood under the awning. His white robes wooshed out momentarily, and the lower portion of his robe became wet. His mouth maintained a line of distaste, he crossed his arms stood. He fully expected Hakkai to follow.

And here was another part of their ceremony, which was a recent addition. They'd slid into this new rite comfortably, naturally. Sanzo would look out into the rain, and Hakkai would look out with him. The rain made a noise when it hit the wood of the inn, like thousands of tiny nails driving into a coffin. 

What do they remember when the stood in the rain?

At first, they remembered death, and responsibility. At first, they thought of salvation and penitence.

But lately, they thought of nothing, and that could possibly be because instead of mourning they were enjoying each other's company in silence.

The road to salvation is the middle way: no extremes in joy, or sorrow; no starvation, or gluttony; no pain, and no pleasure. Nirvana is peace and abstinence. Each held a secret pain of memory they refused to part with, a stone they held in their hands as they swam through life. Their memory was so precious they gave up peace to hold it near, it was a remembered happiness that was engulfed with sorrow. Leaving yourself open to regret, leaves you open for happiness.

Hakkai didn't speak, because that only drove Sanzo away.

The rain drenched the landscape, made the pines dip and bow elegantly. The rain turned the soil dark. The rain was soaking Sanzo's robe at the edges. The rain engulfed and made the world solid. It fell to the earth in a curtain that made breathing a little difficult, and with no wind it fell nearly straight down. The rain… the rain… the rain…

Hakkai delicately leaned forwards, caught the edge of Sanzo's robes, and pulled them back so they didn't touch the dirt, held it in his hands for a moment before hesitantly letting it go. The white sway of cloth in the muted light of the evening was fascinating.

Sanzo looked down at the hand briefly before it let go, looked at the graceful point of knuckle and clear skin of his hand. Sanzo stepped back from the awning so that the rain didn't touch his robe as much, and Hakkai mirrored the movement by stepping back as well.

He felt no guilt for this odd new peace, but he didn't want to step away from the rain. After a while, they both crouched down and braced their back against the inn's wall, and stared out together into the land, allowing themselves to drift.

Tiny beads of rain water pearled on the needles of the trees just near enough to them to be seen. When the branch became heavy enough with water, it'd dip down, shake the water off, and then raise up to catch more rain. Forest green boughs of pine would bow low and then raise up again, over and over, as the rain clung to it for a moment, and then let go.

"Sanzo?" 

It broke the reverie, and annoyed him. "What?"

"Even sad things can be beautiful, eh?"

Sanzo looked out into the rain, and felt no memory at all weigh him down. He bowed his head a moment before closing his eyes in an act of annoyance, raised his chin and looked up at Hakkai, "Ah," he made a point of his words, "I suppose so."

They looked at each other a moment, dropped their eyes to the ground they sat on, and then both turned back to the rain that was falling on everything.

When fingers touched his temples, stroked hair back, and then continued to touch his hair, it didn't occur to him to object loudly, it only occurred to him that Hakkai's fingers were cold from being outside for so long, and that Hakkai was sitting near enough for most of his body to be warm.

Their rain-meals were traditional, even if they weren't hungry they sat with food in their presence to remind each other that someone wanted them alive. It confirmed their obligation to the world, it reinforced their responsibility to one another and to themselves.

Staring out into the ran was traditional, as it fell from the sky and struck the earth, it reminded them of the past, of the mistakes they'd made, of the injustice of it all…it made them forget about it.

But touching is selfish.

Sanzo closed his eyes, and bowed his head, and let Hakkai pet his hair.

"When it rains, I'll be reminded of you."

"Nn ?" 

"Yeah," Quiet.

"Is that awful?"

"… I don't think so …"

The sky above and the earth below, and people between the two. 

"You remind me of a story."

Silence. 

"One I read when I was young."

No reply.

Hakkai pet his hair, "It's a story about a little prince, who has left his home to find new worlds. He can't be happy where he is, so he always moves from one place to another, looking for something to call his own." It seemed natural to pet his hair. "In his travels, he only finds confused people who seem only able to deny themselves that which makes them happy… and he thinks himself quite wise to see that in each of them."

"This is a long story."

"Then, he meets a fox."

"A fox." 

"A fox. This fox is nervous around him, and dashes around as if being hunted and threatened. When the prince asks him why, he responds that he is not tame. The prince, he doesn't know what the word means, and the fox says, 'to establish ties.'"

"That isn't what 'tame' means."

"What does 'tame' mean, then?"

"When something dominates another." 

"That would make the story less sweet." Hakkai continued, "And so the little prince tames the fox, slowly, day by day, until at last they seem to have 'tamed' one another. From the fox, he learned that the only things that matter in life, are things which are seen by the heart… and without this vision, one only sees that which is meaningless… but taming each other has left them open for happiness and sorrow. The prince realizes that he has been moving farther and farther away from the one thing which makes him happy. The prince's happiness lies in a rose he left at his home, a rose he cared for and tended to, a rose which is unique to him in all the world… all the worlds combined. This rose is a little obnoxious, a little loud, very demanding… but this rose has tamed him, and the little prince knows then that he must go home, and so the prince and the fox part. When they have to part, the fox says that the wheat fields will forever remind him of the prince, because his hair is the color of golden wheat.…."

Sanzo was resting his chin on his crossed arms, his eyes half closed. Hakkai was petting his hair slowly, because it seemed the right thing to do at that time.

"The rain, reminds me of you."

Hakkai put his chin on Sanzo's shoulder, and closed his eyes.

"Are you calling me a 'fox', or a 'prince'?"

Hakkai wasn't sure, "Maybe… we've simply tamed each other."

"And who is the rose?" Sanzo looked out at the rain, watched the dirt contort as the droplets struck the ground. 

Hakkai was quiet for a long time before he answered, "That… would make the story less sweet."

A dark bough of pine gracefully dipped, shook itself free of rain, and rose to greet more droplets.

Hakkai and Sanzo didn't break the silence of their rain ceremony, and sat close to one another.

And overhead, their two friends slept.


End file.
